


The Man Drawer

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:37:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warnings: Slash, language, very silly boys.<br/>Summary: Ron has a drawer full of indeterminable crap which steps into the void when a very important item is needed, and Harry takes umbrage.</p><p>Based on  a sketch by a British comedian.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man Drawer

“Oh fuck, Harry, yeahhhh…”

 

Ron’s groan floated up to the ceiling of their flat and sank into the plaster. He was sprawled somewhat wantonly on their leather sofa which was large enough that there was ample room for his six foot two frame with his head flat on the seat and spare room after his feet.

 

His boyfriend of four years was nimbly placed in between his spread thighs, licking a wet trail up the erection he’d created with little more than a seductive flash of his emerald eyes.

 

“You taste good,” Harry teased, blowing a trail of hot breath where his tongue had smoothed.

“Shut up, Boy-Who-Lived-To-Suck-My-Cock, and fulfil your destiny…” Ron groaned, arching up his back in order to get the heavenly lips back where they belonged.

“How many times, Ron,” Harry grinned somewhat evilly. “That’s never the turn on you think it is to hear.”

“Well, it turns me on,” Ron muttered. “Please, Harry dearest, my beautiful raven-haired nymph, please wrap your sultry lips around my –OW!”

 

Ron’s eyes flew open and he glared at Harry. “Well, there goes my screaming orgasm for the night. Pube pulling?” His hand flew to his balls and massaged where he’d been rebuked for his mouth.

 

“Oh, so sorry, did that hurt?” Harry laced his voice with sickly sweet regret and bent his head, nosing at Ron’s hand. “I’ll just have to kiss it better, won’t I?”

“Keep talking,” Ron closed his eyes again and a smile spread across his lips as he felt gentle kisses pepper over his sac, interspersed with tiny, almost coy little licks.

 

Little licks became moderate, and from moderate bypassed large completely and bounded straight to indecent; Ron reached up and grabbed the arm of the chair, sinking his fingernails into the leather as his bollocks were thoroughly tongued.

 

“Sooogoooooood,” he hissed, flexing his erection with want.

“I know,” Harry said with an arrogant sigh, and winked. “But I want more than just tasting you…”

  
“Oh, Mr. I’m-So-Tired-After-My-Big-Important-Auror-Meeting.”

“Are you actually complaining that I want a fuck?” Harry raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“No,” Ron shrugged. “I’m just pointing out that your moods go up and down like a tart’s knickers, is all.”

“And what would you know about tarts’ knickers, hmm?” Harry cocked his head to the side with a dangerous glare. “Got something to tell me, Weasley?”

“Err, nope,” Ron looked innocent. “You’re the only tart I’ve tasted for the past four years.”

“And I taste like?”

“Treacle,” Ron winked with a cheesy grin. “Sugary with a bit of a dark kick.”

 

“Ron,” Harry snorted. “Please don’t ever say that again.”

“What?” Ron protested, as Harry climbed out from between his legs and stood in the middle of their rather sizable living room in all his naked glory. “I can’t use a gut-rotting description every now and then?”

“No,” Harry moved off but then he froze. “Fuck, Ron, did you go to the Alley to replace the lube stock?”

 

“No, because you said you would, on your way home from work.”

“Er, _no_ , I said that _you_ could go, as you’re still being a layabout on sick leave from that injury which healed within three days of being home.”

“Hey, I don’t make the sick leave regulations, Harry,” Ron said, somewhat smugly.

 

He had, of course, being sitting on his arse for a glorious two weeks due to a nasty gut infection caught from a poisoned chamber on an Auror raid. He had another week left and planned to carry on his paid holiday as he had begun it.

 

“Fucking girl, you could just come back to work,” Harry rolled his eyes.

 

His indifference would have sounded hurtful, had Ron not remembered the fact that Harry had spent two days and nights plastered to the side of his hospital bed waiting for Ron to wake up when the infection had held its worst hold.

 

“So we _don’t_ have any lube, is that what you’re telling me?” Ron got back to the point.

“Well if you didn’t buy any, then no, we do not. And no, we are not fucking using olive oil.”

 

Ron snorted. “Well, check the Man Drawer.”

“Why the hell would you have lube in there?”

“I have _everything_ in there, Harry. It’s my homeland, the one space in this flat I really and truly need. I could survive all manner of attacks with the contents of that drawer alone.”

 

“Fine,” Harry hissed. “I’ll check the drawer. You just wait here and rest on your poxy laurels whilst I do all the hard work.”

 

Ron did just that, he stretched out again and reached down to fondle his erection, stroking languidly with the tips of his fingers, playing with the foreskin. Impatience called for him to make a fist and on the upward stroke he moved his thumb to brush across his slit, hissing at the stinging pleasure it created. He continued, running his free hand over a nipple, then down his torso and over his hip to reach down and cup his balls, weighing them in the palm of his hand before gently tugging.

 

Creating a merry party for himself and starting to moan shortly after, he didn’t realise that Harry hadn’t returned until he had properly made himself leak, and he became impatient to be filled. It wasn’t very often he was allowed to bottom and when promised Ron instantly looked forward to it.

 

Huffing slightly, he rolled off the sofa and landed on his feet, his cock jutting proudly out in front of him as he padded to the kitchen, where the bright light flooded out into the living room floor. He curled his fingers around the doorframe and teasingly tilted enough of his torso into the kitchen. But Harry wasn’t there.

 

At least, he wasn’t, until Ron looked down on the floor.

 

“What are you doing to my drawer?!” He cried in horror.

 

Harry was sitting cross legged on the floor, the drawer in question removed from the casters and seated alongside him. And the contents were sprawled in a motley array in front of him, some of the items in piles.

 

“This drawer is fucking insane,” Harry declared. “Full of crap.”

“How dare you,” Ron growled. “That drawer’s saved your bony backside more times than I care to count, Potter.”

“Oh really, name one?”

“That night when work kept our wands in for curse observation, and you sat on your glasses. _Who_ superglued them back together with superglue from the drawer in question?”

 

Harry looked up at him and said bitterly, “You.”

 

Ron smugly nodded and folded his arms across his chest, stepping properly into the kitchen, the cool tiles feeling good on his feet.

 

“But look,” Harry gestured at the piles. “I counted eleven different Chinese menus, Ron. Eleven.”

“Very useful information,” Ron said coolly. “Everybody likes choice.”

“We use the same Chinese, every time. The crappy one. The one where you have to wonder what the meat is, because it doesn’t look like chicken. And, what’s fucking more, we’ve ordered the SAME thing for four years, Ron. We don’t _need_ menus!”

“What’s your point?” Ron frowned.

Harry threw him a contemptuous glance. “And here, something else. This is an instruction manual to a television you’ve never owned. It was mine. You dropped it when we moved because I groped your arse and your levitation spell broke!” Harry picked up said manual. “So, why.do.we.still.have.the.fucking.manual?!” He punctuated each word with a swat of the pamphlet through the air.

 

“Because it’s always good to have a reference point,” Ron shrugged. “You never know.”

“You’re turning into your father,” Harry jabbed the manual at him and threw it down, looking for his next item. “Aha! Look, this tin of broom polish. The lid’s jammed on. The lid’s been jammed on for best part of two years, why the fuck do you still have it?”

“It might come off,” Ron said moodily, scraping his big toe innocently back and forth on the floor, his eyes following it. “And then we’d have a perfectly usable tin of broom polish.”

 

“Or,” Harry said with eyebrows in his hairline, “It might not, and you’d just have another piece of crap in your drawer.”

 

“Look, I thought we were going to fuck?” Ron growled.

“We are. But, if I were you, I’d sit down, because the blind’s up and I’m sure everybody in the building opposite is just _loving_ your wood right now, Ron.”

 

Ron flushed and threw himself down on his knees rather painfully. “You could have pointed that out earlier, you sod.”

“Well, we’ve got to give them something. You know how that old dear on the fifth floor loves a good perve.”

 

Ron shuddered and made a gagging sound.

 

“Oh, see, fuck’s sake, Ron. What’s this?” He held up a silver key in one hand. “And this?” he held up a gold one in the other.

“They’re _keys_ ,” Ron said in a voice which one would generally associate to teaching a five-year-old a challenging problem. “You know, Harry, things you unlock doors with? Do you know what a door is?”

“Keep talking and my cock won’t be what’s ramming up your arse,” Harry gave the silver key, the bigger and knobblier of the two, a menacing twist in the air.

“Kinky bastard,” Ron smirked. “And, anyway, just because we no longer live in either of those residences, one day, you might want to get back in. And I’m just saying we could.”

“Yes, Ron, because wizards _need_ keys. Wands pale in significance to the power of the mighty key.”

“Well, frankly, yes, they do.”

 

“And, look. This tape measure. We both know for fact it’s all stretched and in no way gives an accurate representation of anything any more, and hasn’t, since about two months after it was purchased!”

“So that’s why you’re still measuring your dick with it when you think I’m not looking,” Ron slapped his thigh. “You like how big it makes you!”

 

Harry flushed then and threw the tape measure down and Ron burst out laughing.

 

“Well, I’ve had enough,” Harry declared. “It’s going. I need this drawer.”

“What for?” Ron scowled.

“Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Indeterminable items of great importance,” Harry sniffed airily.

“THESE _are_ indeterminable items of great importance!” Ron protested, gesturing to the crap spread out on their expensively tiled floor.

“Important to whom?”

“Me!”

“I am claiming ownership to this drawer!” Harry laid a hand on it.

“Like fuck you are,” Ron hissed and dropped forward onto his hands and knees to better protect his sacred house of crap, when his eyes caught something on the floor.

 

“And, see! Drawer wins again,” he grabbed the tube and waved it. “See, lube. In the man drawer! The drawer has saved the day, yet again.”

 

“I’m not having sex with you unless you give up this drawer,” Harry threw his gauntlet down and Ron’s mouth fell slightly open.

“Well, I’m not having sex with you unless you get rid of that god-awful vase that you troll out every time I have to suffer through your ‘lets-all-make-nice-with-Malfoy’ dinners.”

“That was a gift,” Harry protested. “I can’t throw away a gift, he’ll be offended.”  
“He’ll just buy you an even worse fucking vase!” Ron cried.

 

Harry snatched the lube off him then. “I love you when you’re angry,” he breathed, and tackled Ron around the waist, sending him flopping down into the pile of Chinese menus, allen keys, old birthday candles, keys, the tape measure and assorted manuals.

 

Winded, Ron couldn’t really get anything out at Harry’s sudden change of heart, and as roughened fingers he knew so well wrapped around his cock, he didn’t want to bother. Harry pumped him back to fullness with the addition of wet kisses on his lips.

 

“Oh gods, want you so bad,” Ron panted, not caring that a there was a screwdriver trying to work into his spine. “Harry, fuck me… ohhh…”

 

Ron wanted to cry as he felt Harry slicking up his cock, and recognised that he wouldn’t be fucked after all. But the hand glided over his shaft and he moaned, too wrapped up in the heightened sensation to really care –as long as he came, it would do.

 

“Er, Ron?”

“What?” he breathed, cracking open his eyes.

“I think… I think we might have made a mistake,” Harry’s eyes were wide.

“What the fuck you on about?” Ron groaned. “Just sit on my cock and ride me, bitch.”

 

“No, I mean… I don’t think this is lube, I think… I think it’s the superglue, Ron.”

 

“WHAT?!” Ron yelped, flying upright and nearly cracking his head with Harry’s, who jumped to his feet looking at his hand in horror. “Oh, fuck…”

 

His eyes were still trained down at his member in horror when he heard a snicker from above, and he glanced up to see Harry’s face contorted as he tried to hold in his mirth.

 

“You fucking bastard!” Ron growled, and struggled to his feet as Harry took flight into the living room, laughing loudly as he went.

 

Ron caught up with him by the sofa, grabbed him around the waist and threw him headfirst into the cushions, yanking his backside up in the air. He positioned himself quickly and before Harry could protest he thrust inward, relishing the shocked moan which broke out of his boyfriend’s lips.

 

“You’d better fucking hope it wasn’t superglue,” Ron picked up his pace, pressing his fingertips hard into Harry’s hips. “Because I doubt even _you_ could talk your way out of this one when the Healers got involved.”

 

Harry couldn’t laugh because at that moment Ron stole his breath away with a series of sharp staccato snaps of his hips, and his large, well-practiced hand tugged at his cock in a way which told Harry in no uncertain terms that he was going to come fast and hard, very, very soon.

 

“Oof, fuck, Ron!” he gasped, as he lurched forward and caught a faceful of scatter cushion.

“Leave,” Ron thrust between each word, “My… man… drawer… alone…”

“If threatening it –AH FUCK! YES, THERE, FUCKING THERE, OH GODS… SHIT! Ah! If it gets me this I’ll burn the fucking thing to cinders…”

“Any last words?” Ron began to pump with his fist.

“No,” Harry choked, as his balls were assaulted by another pair ramming into them from behind. “Oh, Jesus.”

 

Ron laid down his final weapon as he bent his head and licked a trail right through the centre of Harry’s shoulder blades into the nape of his neck, and watched as the damp key unlocked his brunette’s control. Harry shuddered violently, his lips letting out whimpers, and he pulsed hard over Ron’s hand.

 

Not to be outdone, Ron thrust in three more times before his balls tightened and he came in long pulses into Harry’s passage, throwing his head back to moan as he did so.

 

“Fucking hell,” Harry wheezed beneath him, his arms almost buckling from keeping himself suspended.

“Yeah,” Ron squeezed his eyes together and panted slightly.

 

“You know what?” Harry mumbled.

“Mmm?”

“I really fancy a Chinese now.”

 

Ron laughed slightly as he pulled out, and gave a cheeky slap to Harry’s arse. “Well. Pick one of the eleven menus so we can have our usual fight and you’re paying, seeing as you robbed me of my fuck.”

 

“I’ll pay,” Harry got slowly to his feet, dragging his hands back through his messy hair. “If the drawer goes.”

 

Ron stared at him. “Good thing I’m on paid holiday, then, isn’t it? Money’s in my wallet.”

 

_-fin-_


End file.
